Fulfillment
by TourmalineTrue
Summary: 'Tis the season for giving. And receiving. And hope. Previously published under a different pen name. Please see my profile for details, thanks!


**Warnings: language, slash, pedophilia, bestiality, lemon, anal, oral**

**Disclaimer: Family Guy = Not Mine. I have no claims to it whatsoever.**

**Fulfillment**

The thing about Stewie is that he has the ability to make Brian do things he never in a million years imagined he'd do.

'Twas two days before Christmas.

Brian wasn't a fan of the holiday. The religious component of it, of course, meant nothing to him, and as for everything else that it was supposed to symbolize…Goodwill toward all mankind? What a laugh! Take a look at the world today! Look at somebody the wrong way and you might get your face blown apart. And family togetherness? Holiday time at the Griffin house is far from straight out of a Hallmark movie. Not that he would _want_ it in any way to resemble anything cranked out by _that_ organization. Despicable company, making their bucks off of emotionally manipulating idiots and so greedy for more money that they'll create holidays while contributing significantly to the over-commercialization of the legitimate ones.

When the cashier hands him his change, and then his purchases, wishing him a Merry Christmas, Brian takes the opportunity to point out somewhat superiorly,

"Are you even allowed to say that anymore? Aren't you supposed to say 'happy holidays'?"

Not that all religions aren't a bunch of bull, but he gets his self-satisfaction fix for at least being PC.

As he's driving along the streets of Quahog, homebound after the one-and-only shopping trip he'll make to purchase presents for his family members (knock it all out at once, that's his m.o. He waited until the last minute, but he thinks everybody'll be pleased with what he got them) he makes a face at how many radio stations seem to be playing Christmas music. Then he lands on Frank Sinatra singing _White Christmas_ and opts to leave it. Ol' Blue Eyes may never have found his stride singing carols, and yes, Brian does tend to get all '_bah! humbug!_' about the holiday season, but it's still Sinatra. It would be sacrilege to switch it off.

He arrives home and lugs his finds through the front door, noticing that the whole rest of the Griffin family is in the living room. And dressed quite festively. Peter and Chris sport holiday sweaters reminiscent of the one Lois once got Brian, while she herself has on a semiformal dress, as does Meg, while a Santa hat adorns Stewie's peculiarly-shaped cranium.

"Oh, good, Brian, you're back!" says Lois happily from behind a camera that is setting on a tripod before the stairs. "We're getting ready to take our family Christmas card photo." She proceeds to direct and point out where she wants everyone to stand.

Peter, on his way up the stairs to take his position next to Lois, passes Brian and jams a pair of antlers on the dog's head. Brian grumbles but submits, taking his place on the stairs.

Stewie is standing on the step in front of him and slightly to the side. Before the flash goes off, he reaches behind him and rests his hand on Brian's back.

The photo taken, the two older Griffin children disappear to the second floor of the house, doubtlessly to shut themselves in their respective rooms, Meg probably to put on headphones and zone out to some horrible emo music that the teenagers are so partial to, Chris to either play video games or…do that _other_ thing he likes to do when he's alone.

Lois goes over and plants herself on the sofa, opening the laptop computer that's setting there while Peter takes the camera off the tripod and tinkers with it, presumably examining the picture that's just been snapped.

"Okay, Lois, got Photoshop open so we can alter the hell out of Meg's picture and make her look like somebody we're not ashamed to call our daughter?'

"Sure do."

Brian has to think of someplace he can stash the presents he just bought, but first he could sure go for a nice hot cup of coffee to warm up and give him an energy boost.

Stewie comes skipping up to him.

"Ooh, you went shopping, huh?"

"Yeah," Brian, ripping off his antlers, answers, stepping around Stewie and making for the kitchen.

"Whadja get me?" quizzes Stewie, following close behind.

"What makes you think I got you anything?" Brian responds dryly. He's joking of course. He really is exceedingly fond of the kid. Yeah, psychopathic, magamaniacal demon he might be. Yes, as well as a closeted homosexual baby who sometimes annoys the crap out of Brian by babbling on and on about his latest stereotypically-gay obsession -be it fashion or bubble gum pop music. But he's also a ready ear for whenever Brian's in a mood to vent about his various letdowns in life, his issues and insecurities. The only one Brian's trusted with the majority of the deeper, more private and devastating factors that cause him distress.

He loves the kid for the amazing strength and bravery with which he faces most things, so remarkable to possess at such a young age, and also for the normal babyish fears and vulnerabilities with which he faces others.

In the kitchen, he pours himself a steaming mug of java and takes it to the table, where he sits down to a barrage of questions and guesses from Stewie about what Brian may have bought for him, and also a newspaper, which the dog takes up to pay attention to in lieu of the baby's irritating chatter.

**BREAK!**

Brian tweaks his tie and inspects his image in the bathroom mirror. It's later that night and Peter and Lois are giving a Christmas cocktail party. Brian's got himself decked out in a snazzy suit for the occasion. He whistles in approval at his reflection and makes little pistol motions at it for looking like such a hot shot. How he loves being well-dressed.

As he exits the bathroom, he encounters Stewie just outside the door, leaning against the wall, wearing his p.j.'s and a pouty expression.

"I don't know how my idiot parentals expect their little get-together to be a success when they are depriving it of its most scintillating conversationalist."

"Stewie, just go to bed," Brian recommends, preoccupied and slightly impatient. It would be nice if he could just go downstairs and enjoy a pleasant, adult evening without having to contend with a tantrum from Stewie about being left out first.

Stewie yawns ostentatiously. "Fine, but I'm going because I choose it, not because you told me to. And, uh, if the party blows chunks, as I think is quite likely to be the case…after you finish eating them," he sneers, "why don't you come on up and see me?"

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," says Brian dismissively, offering Stewie a wave over the shoulder before heading downstairs.

The party is attended by the usual suspects- Joe and Bonnie, Quagmire, Mort- as well as Peter's boss Angela and Lois's parents. Brian is standing drinking a martini and talking to Joe when in walks one of the foxiest chick Brian's seen in a long time. He watches as Lois goes to greets her. She introduces her to the room at large as Tina, who she knows from when they used to take jujitsu classes together and recently reconnected with when they ran into one another at the grocery store, then toddles off.

Brian quickly excuses himself and saunters on over to the beautiful latecomer.

"Well, I see Santa received my letter and brought me just what I wanted for Christmas this year," he drawls flirtatiously.

She is distinctly unimpressed by what Brian thought was a perfectly charming line. "I'm a human being. I can't be given as a gift," she responds coolly.

Taken aback, Brian blinks rapidly, then hurriedly says, "No, no, it wasn't my intention to imply anything of the kind. I just meant to remark that I'd been wishing I could meet someone as beautiful-"

"Am I supposed to be flattered," she interrupts him with more than a trace of hostility present in her voice, "that some dog assumes that my being here tonight is going to be to his benefit? What unbelievable arrogance! You know, it's guys like you that made me switch to women."

As if out of nowhere, Quagmire has materialized at Tina's side. Her high level of attractiveness guaranteed that he would approach her eventually, but the fact that she's a hot lesbian has sped him to her.

He places a deceptively harmless hand on Tina's shoulder and gives her a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry about him. He can be a real douche."

"Hey, you just stay out of this, Quagmire," Brian snaps, glaring at the man. "I can straighten this out without your help, thanks."

Tina's folds her arms over her ample chest and gives him a cross, disdainful look. "You see what I mean about the arrogance? He think he can '_straighten'_ me out!"

"But-"

"The lady. Said. No," Quagmire says slowly, scowling at Brian. As though _he_ suddenly has so much respect for women's wishes and always operates faithfully in accordance with the axiom that 'no means no'. He, the Roofie King of Quahog.

"Thank you," Tina says gratefully to Quagmire.

"You know what? Whatever. I don't need to defend myself to either of you," mutters Brian, holding up his paws in ironic surrender before turning to walk away.

From behind him, he hears Tina say to Quagmire, "You know, my girlfriend and I thought we might try a threesome to spice things up in the bedroom, and I think you might be just the guy-"

"Oh, _come_ _on_! You've _got_ to be kidding me!" exclaims Brian in disbelief, whirling to face the two again. Neither of them says anything to him, but Quagmire hurls a beer can at the white dog. It was mostly full and doesn't lose much of its contents from its flight halfway across the room. It hurts quite enough when it makes contact with the side of Brian's head to make him yelp in pain.

"Brian, why don't you just go ahead and get out of here? Nobody wants you around, anyway" Quagmire calls over to him nastily.

Brian looks around appealingly to all the people who are supposed to care about him to see if any of them will say anything in his defense, but is disappointed. Everyone seems wrapped up in their own thing. Peter, for one, is fairly intoxicated and becomes very enthused upon hearing a new song pour forth from the speakers, _Silver and Gold_.

"Hey, does anyone wanna hear my tribute to the late, great Anna Nicole Smith?" He loudly questions. Caring not that he gets no reply, he begins to sing:

"_Silver and old, silver and old,_

_Anna Nicole likes 'em silver and old_

_How do you measure her mirth?_

_Just by whatever his bank account's worth…"_

"And why not? That's a sensible policy for a woman to go by," opines Carter Pewterschmidt.

Lois is also hammered, cackling in a corner with Bonnie, telling some off-color Christmas anecdote that concludes with, "-and I'm telling you, that cabana boy had _a big one_! I mean, there's your example of a perfect Yule log. And that's why Cabo was always my favorite out of the places my parents used to take me on Christmas vacation as a teenager."

Taking Quagmire's advice, Brian leaves the party, tail between his legs.

Journeying on up the stairs, he heads down the hall to Stewie's room, saying as he eases open the door, "Hey, kid, you were right, the party was pretty dead. What're you up to in here?"

The sound of soft snoring is his only reply; his best hope for company that night, it seems, is fast asleep.

Brian curses, and, deciding to call it a night as well, heads for the bathroom to grab a shower before bed.

He lathers up while standing under the rushing water and grumbles to himself as he fumes. Why is it that Quagmire is able to get so much tail? What's that disease-ridden bobblehead have that he doesn't? And Brian's lousy, so-called family and friends: would it have killed any of them to simply put in a good word for him? Then maybe it would've been _him_ getting in on some three-way action. Even if the girlfriend turned out to be ugly, at least that Tina chick was smokin' hot. It's been ages since Brian's gotten laid. Of course Brian's constantly on the lookout for the possibility of a meaningful relationship, and he wouldn't have been able to have that with Tina, because she was gay and yeah, crazy, but that probably meant she was also crazy in bed. He at least could've had one fun night.

Stepping from the shower, he strains his ears and listens. He can no longer hear the voices of visitors on the floor below. The party must have broken up. A minute later he hears Peter and Lois come up the stairs and pass by the bathroom, drunkenly cooing lovey-dovey things to each other and then kissing noisily prior to their bedroom door slamming shut. Brian towels off and departs the bathroom.

He ducks back into Stewie's room before heading downstairs to sleep on the couch. Approaching on tip-toes the crib where the sleeping infant lies, he hangs onto the bars and heaves a sigh as he peers in at Stewie. Brian kisses one of his own fingers and then presses it to Stewie's cheek before slipping quietly out of the room.

**BREAK!**

Brian awakens with a start, the sound of a crash in the next room shattering his sleep. He shifts from his curled-up position on the sofa to a seated one, switches on nearby lamp, and glances about the room.

Stewie, having come from the kitchen by the looks of it, stands near the foot of the stairs and is struggling to strip off his footie pajamas while hopping on one foot, trying to keep his balance.

"Stewie? What the hell are you doing?" he asks in confusion. Then his nostrils flare and quiver as for the first time a mouthwatering aroma- spicy and robust, with lower notes of something more savory, like a type of frankfurter. Brian slides his legs over the side of the couch and hops down, going to stand in front of the baby, who he sees is head-to-toe dripping with a thick, dark liquid.

"Why are you covered in barbeque sauce?"

Stewie glances up at him, a hacked-off expression etched on his features, a trickle of sauce making its way slowly from the crown of his head to land on his pert little nose, which he wipes away impatiently, then delves a hand inside his diaper, causing Brian to tense, startled. What he _thought_ Stewie might be going in there after, he really could not say, but the object the baby pulls from it is only a sugar cookie.

"I came downstairs to see what treats had been made available to the simpletons attending Lois and the Fat Man's oh-so-exclusive party to which I was denied entrée. I noticed some Christmas cookies on the table, tugged on the table cloth to get them down, and while I accomplished that mission, I also accidentally wound up dumping a bowl of miniature smoked sausages onto my person!"

Brian snorts. "Smooth."

Stewie has one arm in its sleeve and the other out. As he attempts to free the entrapped one, the other rubs against the messy cloth concealing its twin and gets a fair bit of sauce smeared on it.

Brian grabs onto Stewie's arm, bows his head and licks it.

Stewie wrenches it away with an effeminate noise of disgust.

"Jeez, _sorry. _It's instinctual, you know, dogs see food and they-" His sentence ends there as once more his visceral impulses take over: he goes down on all fours and his tongue licks a firm stripe right down the center of Stewie's body, over his rounded infant belly, and the child let out a shaky gasp, his eyes larger even than normal. He takes a faltering step backward in shock, and falls down on his bum. Brian leaps on top of him, lapping madly at the sauce Stewie is drenched in. Stewie allows the onslaught, but his body trembles in reaction to the sensation of the canine's wide, flat, slick tongue passing over it, and then in soft, but uncontrollable laughter.

"Damn it, Stewie, stop giggling!" Brian scolds, leaving off for a moment.

"Well, I can't help it!" Stewie defends, taking a hand and dipping it into the coating of slobber on the fabric covering his stomach. "_Ugh,_" he mutters quietly, wiping the hand on the carpet. Looking up at Brian once again, he adds, "I can't be the only one you've had this problem with. Your tongue tickles like hell."

"Actually, I'm not really one for licking food off lovers, so-" Brian feels himself flush deeply. He can't believe, somewhere in his subconscious mind, he's evidently been drawing a correlation between what he's doing to Stewie and an erotic activity; nor can he believe that he just effectively admitted to it.

Stewie stares up at him. It's a calculating, unsettling stare. After a couple seconds, it relaxes into his impassive default facial expression for him to say, in a manner that could be joking or not, "Let's have sex."

Brian jumps slightly, blushing and moderately scandalized. He'd have to be a moron not to be aware that the child has some kind of a crush on him. Stewie makes flirty comments to him on a regular basis, and has, at times, actually propositioned him, but this has been about the most overt. He really cannot tell if Stewie's being serious. He rather hopes not, of course, but having Stewie joke in that way makes him somewhat angry. Why it _should _he elects not to dwell on.

He tries to snicker disparagingly. "Do you even know what that entails?" The kid's knowledge of the subject seems to fluctuate. But really, it's not what he should have said because apparently Stewie has taken the question at face value- he starts telling Brian in an eager yet timid, stammering voice about how he's done some research, and well, he knows…_enough _about it.

Hands latch onto and tighten forcefully on his collar, yanking on it, choking Brian briefly, in the process of pulling his head up so that his face is right in front of Stewie's, their noses touching. Stewie's head tips sideways slightly and he brings his lips to Brian's, a soft, light pressure, but his features are screwed up onto an expression of passion. Alarmed, Brian stands. Stewie is clinging fast to his collar so Brian's action pulls the baby upright as well. Their lips detach from one another's and Brian struggles and finally succeeds in pushing the insupportable baby away from him. Too roughly, perhaps, as the shoving motion propels Stewie into a wall, smacking his head on it seemingly pretty harshly. The child utters a cry of pain, sliding down the wall and sitting there against it, looking up at Brian with a quivering chin and tears collecting in his eyes.

Sighing deeply, Brian approaches Stewie and extends a paw to help him up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that that hard. But you just can't go around kissing people against their will, okay?"

Stewie sniffles, wipes away his tears, and huffs. "We were under the mistletoe." To prove his point he indicates the traditional holiday smooching plant that indeed hangs directly above the spot where they had formerly been.

"Well," says Brian, trying to make his tone suitably critical and admonishing without being unduly cruel, "I get that that's the custom, but I don't really _want _to kiss you."

Stewie pauses. Appears to consider this. Looks at Brian for a moment and considers _him_. Then a sly gleam comes into the infant's eye. "Oh, yes, you do," he almost coos, with a conviction that startles Brian. "And you want to do more than that, too."

Brian is rendered speechless for a long beat. He at last manages to gasp out, "W-what?"

Stewie grins, a lopsided, seductive grin, then asks breathily, vaguely Marilyn Monroe-esque, "Won't you make love to me, Brian? I know you're going through a dry spell. Well, let me see if I can give you a good memory outside of a wet dream."

Brian can't explain what happens next. His automatic reaction of 'Hell no, I won't! What the fuck is the matter with you?' is checked by a sudden reel that starts playing in his head. Scenes like a slideshow appear on his mental movie screen of every instance he and Stewie have ever found themselves in a situation where they've done something couple-y or borderline sexual. These situations had been awkward due in no small part to how Brian had begun to respond to them after the first few such occasions, when it'd occurred to him that he _wouldn't_ be totally averse to doing what Stewie is suggesting now. The first time he'd realized that- hypothetically- he'd be willing to do Stewie, he'd been horrified with himself. Lately, he'd gotten used to intermittently wanting Stewie in that way, since he never imagined he'd _act_ on his desires. Their relationship has ever been somewhat strange, he knows that. Even beyond the fact that they're both drastically more intellectually advanced than they should be, it's not your average boy-and-dog dynamic. It's a friendship, a strong friendship, but not like the friendship that Brian has with Peter. It's both more and less comfortable than that. Brian is drawn to Stewie in a way he's never been drawn to any other being.

The air between himself and the child has become super-charged with tension. Heat curls in Brian's gut and he shakes his head rapidly in denial of the urges that are beginning to forge in that furnace, the stiffening that is occurring below his equator. He's never felt such a craving to just give in before.

But he can't just use Stewie for his own devices like that. And that's what he _would_ be doing, using him, even if Stewie is consenting. Is asking for it, in fact. How much can Stewie's consent count for, when he is a mere infant? True, Stewie is far from a _typical _infant. He says what he means most of the time. Still, while he might mean it right now, think he's ready for something like this, he's not always the best at knowing his own limitations, and what mental and emotional scars what he's requesting has the potential to leave!

Stewie, his head tilted to one side, watches Brian as though he can _see_ the inner debate raging within the dog. The debate between raw desire and good sense, rational and ridiculous, civilized and animalistic. To some extent (at least in Brian's point of view), between moral and immoral. And Stewie can see which side is winning. An evil smile starts to grow on his face. He steps menacingly toward Brian, but before he can get there…

Brian launches himself at Stewie, and goes right back to what he was doing before, licking the baby all over. However, this time, he takes off Stewie's sleeper first, and his tongue's target is merely the tot's own sweet, baby-soft skin, and not the barbeque sauce. Stewie takes this for the acquiescence that it is.

"If I'd known that _this_ is all it would take to get you right where I want you," Stewie observes with a complacent smirk, "I'd have doused myself with meat juice long ago."

Brian stops what he's doing to give Stewie a look, but the kid clearly misses how that statement could be taken for a euphemistic one, so Brian refrains from remarking that Stewie will be spattered with a different type of meat juice soon. Instead, he divests Stewie of his diaper, and, gripping his companion's small hands, pulls the naked infant to his feet, observing as he does so that Stewie's already fully erect. Those times when he's changed the baby's diaper and noticed a similar condition, he always told himself that it was completely involuntarily. Male youths many, many years away from puberty would have the occasional stiffy, even though they had no sexual desires. Now, though, Brian's forced to reassess his assumptions that every Stewie erection he's seen in the past was, for lack of a better word, an innocent one. Because Stewie plainly _does _have sexual desires. And he has them for Brian.

He holds Stewie firmly by the upper arms, while the child rests his hands against Brian's chest, sliding his fingers into the white fur, and they kiss. Smoldering, fervent kisses that significantly kindle the fire growing within the pit of Brian's stomach. When they break apart, they are both at a loss for breath.

"Stewie," Brian growls, "touch me." Laying his hand over one of Stewie's, he directs it toward his member. Ignoring Stewie's nervous squeak, he wraps the kid's stumpy little fingers around his shaft and guides them up and down the rapidly-hardening length. Brian's well-endowed for a dog of his size- for _any _dog, really- and Stewie can't fit his hand entirely around the cock. But he manages to get a good enough grip on it and the softness of Stewie's hand feels fantastic.

At Brian's first gasp of pleasure, the smirk that appears on the tyke's face is unbearably smug.

"Yeah, you likin' this, doggie? Huh? Are ya, boy?"

Any tentativeness in his touch fades, and he gets a decent rhythm established, adding a second hand as he continues to work Brian's shaft, all the while watching the dog's face intently, obviously greatly intrigued and thrilled by this power he currently has to reduce the family pet to dangerously quaking knees and a steady stream of desperate moans.

Brian begins pressing on Stewie's shoulders, encouraging the child to kneel in before him. Stewie sinks obediently down.

"Put your mouth on it."

Stewie looks more than a little unsure, his eyes hooding, lips pursing while he stares at the organ that is about an inch away from putting his eye out. Hesitantly, he reaches out to grasp it again, at the base.

Brian is obliged to shut his eyes against the vision before them. It's so arousing he can't stand it. It will be seared into his memory forever. It's the most disturbingly erotic thing Brian's ever seen: the image of Stewie's tongue emerging from between his lips to shyly touch the tip of Brian's cock.

Since he's no longer looking, he concentrates on what he hears and feels. There is the experimental gliding of a tongue along his length, then an interval of lips pressed upon the head while they try and stretch around the girth of the cock before Stewie takes an inch or so in. The first few attempts at sucking, Stewie keeps gagging and having to start over, but it doesn't break the mood too much. One's worst blowjob is still pretty much better than no blowjob at all. And really, Stewie doesn't have that bad of a technique for a novice. He starts sucking on the dick like he would on a bottle and Brian's knees become so weak, they're going to buckle, he's sure. He flings an arm across his eyes, a subconscious attempt to block Stewie from observing his face in this unguarded moment of control lost. He can't stop himself from groaning out the child's name.

"Stewie…_Stewie_!"

After a minute or two, much to the dog's chagrin, Stewie suddenly releases the member from his mouth and inquires, "Not that I'm complaining, but how long do I have to keep doing this?"

Brian growls softly in frustration at having the blissful experience cease, but reminds himself that the best is yet to come. And anyway, he can't just keep being a lazy son of a bitch who lets Stewie do all the work. Stewie had been asked to be made love to, and 'tis the season for giving. Even though the giving he's about to do will be, on a few different levels, so much more like taking.

Brian lowers Stewie to the floor just in front of the Christmas tree and hovers over him. The lights from the Christmas tree shine on Stewie's flesh, tiny, shining circles reflected all over his nude baby body. He looks totally calm, if bemused. Brian sucks one of his own furry fingers, which he brings to Stewie's entrance, then pokes it inside. There's a slight intake of breath from the child. When a second one is added, he grimaces and hisses in discomfort before moaning quietly and writhing in appreciation as Brian begins to move them in a circle within Stewie. Next he takes them out and plunges them carefully back in, repeating the process several times. Presently, Brian removes the probing digits for good and lines himself up. As Brian's member slides against the tiny hole, the baby catches on to what's about to take place. He looks surprised; he didn't know about this part, evidently. Stewie gulps and his eyes squeeze shut. Brian caresses Stewie's side soothingly and lowers his head to whisper in his ear, "Still time to change your mind. We don't have to go any further if you don't want to. I don't want to pressure you into anything." Even though if Stewie backs out, Brian is going to die of frustration from having so strong a desire as is consuming him thwarted, he is convinced.

"Are you kidding?" Stewie returns, tone wavering, but opening his eyes, gaze steely. "I've wanted this forever. Now hurry up and do it before I lose interest."

Brian nods, relieved. "Just stay relaxed, alright?

As Brian pushes carefully inside, the child grits his teeth, obviously determined not to cry out in pain, but despite his best efforts, a strangled-sounding whine breaks from him, anyway. Brian shushes him gently and leaning down, captures Stewie's lips in a ferocious kiss, then takes his mouth away to lave away the tracks left by the moisture that has leaked from the baby's eyes with his tongue.

Once Brian is completely inside Stewie, he stills, waiting for the kid to adjust, leaning forward and resting his head against Stewie's shoulder. He takes the kiss the child deposits on his neck and the fingers petting encouragingly at his fur as his cue that it's okay to start moving. Which he does, thrusting in and out as gently as he can, using long, careful strokes. It is incredibly difficult to use restraint and go slowly; the tight, tight heat feels so phenomenonally good. However, it isn't until he's got the timbre of Stewie's soft cries changed from one of discomfort to one that is unmistakably born of pleasure that he allows his hips to pump at a quickened pace.

Scarcely has he done so than Brian realizes he won't last long.

"Oh, god, Stewie!"

Brian moans and grunts grow increasingly urgent as Stewie, sweat pooling on his brow, makes soft, delicious noises that cause his lover to become even more frenzied in his lust. His legs are far too short to wrap around Brian's waist, but he lifts up his knees and hooks them over the tops of Brian's thighs, the action working together with the firmness with which Stewie grips the dog's collar to pull Brian in as close as possible.

As Brian knew would happen, all too soon, his orgasm is rushing him, an irresistible force pulling him down into a swirling, all-encompassing euphoria.

"_Gaaahhh_!" Brian cries out, and empties himself inside Stewie.

He flops atop of him, fighting for breath, body singing, vibrating with pleasure, worn out and utterly satiated. "You…okay? You okay?" he pants to Stewie, and the baby, his breathing just as shallow, speaks his assurance that he is into Brian's ear.

When Brian's breath has been recaptured and he can be bothered to pry himself off his young lover, he discovers as he starts to sit up that there is a slight stickiness between their two bellies. With a great deal of astonishment, he realizes it is semen.

"What the hell? How did _that_ happen?" There isn't much of it at all, only a few little droplets, but the fact that there's any, period, is nothing short of bewildering.

Stewie's sardonic tone is complimented with an eyeroll. "You were there." Despite the dry tone of voice, there's a smile on Stewie's face that says he is extraordinarily pleased and proud of himself for having completed his seduction of Brian.

"Y-yeah, but…you _climaxed_? You shouldn't be able to do that yet."

Stewie shrugged, unconcerned. "I do all sorts of things I shouldn't be able to yet. I shouldn't think this would be any more confounding than the rest of them."

"We are such freaks of nature," Brian mutters softly, paw passing gently over the baby's cheek. Stewie yawns and gazes up at him with drooping eyelids. Within the next few seconds, they have closed completely. Brian lifts the slumbering infant to his chest and carries him upstairs.

Before buttoning Stewie into a fresh set of p.j.'s, Brian cleans him up with a sanitary wipe. He'll have to remember to be the first one to change Stewie's diaper in the morning; else Lois'll be wondering why there's ejaculate in the baby's leavings.

Everything Brian's done since he's come down from his sex high has been done on autopilot. He goes to the crib, lowers the safety bar, and prepares to tuck the infant into bed. As he's standing there, though, Stewie in his arms, suddenly he freezes. The whole room seems to swim in and out of focus. He literally cannot move. It finally hits him properly: he fucked Stewie tonight. The knowledge is almost too much to take in.

As he comes out of his stupor enough to lay Stewie down in the crib, the baby stirs, legs kicking out slightly, tiny fists flailing and his eyes flicker gradually open. Brian is sure his own fly wide to be suddenly staring straight into those of the being who he is now more positive than ever will be responsible for his doom.

"Are you going to sleep in here with me?" Stewie asks drowsily. Not a little hopefully.

Brian is glad to have an option- an option of what he can do- named to him. A moment ago, he hadn't believed there were any left to him anymore. No moving on from this point. For a split second, his life was over. But yes. He can lie down. Here in this room. With Stewie. Who at least deserves to be slept next to after his first time.

Along with the normal quiet creaks and groans of a house settling, there are the sounds of the rather large, elaborate, and offensive Christmas display from next door, on top of Quagmire's roof, which features three animatronic women in sexy Mrs. Claus outfits rigged out with harnesses like reindeer, while an animatronic Quagmire dressed as Santa lashes them with a whip and shouts, "Giggity up you ho, ho, hoes! _Oh! _Merry Christmas!" The breath whistles in and out of the baby who Brian has curled up into a ball beside. All these noises, perhaps, would suffice to keep somebody awake, especially if that somebody had a heavy load on their mind anyway. In theory, this would seem to describe Brian. However, the dog is fully conscious of the fact that he'd be able to sleep if he wanted to. He does not want to. He tries to torture himself, agonize over what tonight's incident means for himself. He's never done anything like that with another male before (hey, a transgender female is still a female!) So now, does he have start reexamining his sexuality now or what? And, even more shocking, his male lover had been _a baby! A baby! _He's not a pedophile, but he just did the deed with a baby, for Christ's sake! Unconscionable, odious deed he did. What does this means for Stewie? Will tonight leave him traumatized for life? Will he read something into it, construe tonight to have some meaning beyond impulsive, casual sex?

_Is_ there something to be read into it?

Brian does wonder about all these things, he does feel guilt and confusion, but mainly he feels that he's already made his peace with what just transpired. What on earth's wrong with him? He should be hating himself right now!

Brian wants to be suffering more than he is. His mind is rejecting every angsty thought that he wants to brood over. He can't account for it, and it is more than merely comparative indifference stemming from exhaustion, or being still too much in the afterglow of coitus to care. Somehow he just knows the horrible truth is that how he feels about the situation right now is the same way he'll be feeling about it tomorrow and for always.

After the initial 'what the hell have I done?' moment, for some inexplicable reason he'd ceased to care. And then he decides, maybe, just maybe, this feeling of stubborn calm is fine. Maybe he just needs to learn how to have peace of mind. And he'll take it wherever he can find it. After all, what was so wrong about what they did? It was wrong in the abstract, yes. But why was it wrong for them? With he and Stewie being who they were…these were extenuating circumstances, were they not?

It happened. They'd both wanted it. They'll deal with whatever needs to be dealt with in the morning. Straightening his body, Brian spoons against Stewie, wrapping an arm snugly about the child. He does not feel tormented. He feels…cozy.

The one thought his mind will accept, keeps circling is how Stewie has always had the ability to make Brian do things he never in a million years imagined he'd do. Things he'd never _want_ to do.

Tonight was neither of those.

Sleep comes much easier than expected.

_**The End**_


End file.
